| Brandon |
[Nov. 20th, 2006|12:19 pm] |
I have the sweetest boyfrind ever. Yesterday morning, I woke up to a killer of a migraine. Tingling fingers, sensitivity to light and sound, forgetting words (like "sun" and "cancelled"), nauseous hell-on-earth migraine.
My sweet boyfriend calls my instructor to cancel my test, gets me a glass of water and some pain-killers and a cold compress, tapes a blanket to the window to block out the sun, and gives me a back rub. He was going to call in sick to work, but I made him go, so he calls up our mutual friend Crystal to come and check in on me.
I'm feeling much better now, but seriously, how could one ask for a sweeter honey? |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Aug. 10th, 2006|01:37 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  joyful | ] |
It's raining!
I wish to go outside and dance naked and sing to the goddesses of nature! I want to roll around in the mud and pray to the earth!
I love rain, and it is something that we have been lacking this summer. Grand Forks has had a burn ban because everything's been dry and brittle. But I'm hoping that now things can go back to being green and lovely.
It's the thunder and lightning that is beautiful: crashing against the sky. The rain comes down in streams, splashing and puddling, and full of life.
This is how I feel spirtual: in simple acts of nature. I am well aware the scientific explanation of rain, but that doesn't mean that my primate self, my transendental self, can't love the impression of it. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Jul. 21st, 2006|05:31 pm] |
The definition of insanity is doing the same things over and over again and expecting different results. I would say I am now certifiably insane.
I went to Ted's last night and watched "The Shining". Like all Kubrick's films, it was pretty awesome, but it scared the hell out of me. Brandon's out of town for the night, so at about 3 am, when I'm jumping at every unexplained noise, and every perphrial movement, with no Brandon to strangle in the middle of the night, I was thinking I should have known better.
Eric and I stayed up talking until something like 4 am. I watched comedies until about 6, when it finally became light and I could finally go to sleep. I still had nightmares of that creepy little kid screaming "Red Rum" in his Tony voice.
Ugg. |
|
|
| Long time no blog |
[Jul. 13th, 2006|10:20 pm] |
So, i got a job at K-mart. Well, not so much a job, more like an act of desperation. But, anyway, I am gainfully employed. Half-way through the summer....yeah.
But, it seems that it may be short. GF Hearld seems like they want to give me a better job with more money. So, I hope I get that.
Later |
|
|
| Father's Day |
[Jun. 20th, 2006|01:54 pm] |
Today is Father's Day. For Mother's Day, I wrote her a letter telling her about all the little things I appreciated her doing for me growing up, being low on funds but still wanting to be sincere.
I tried to do the same for my father, but found it to difficult. I love him, and there are so many things that he did and does that garner my respect and admiration. But there are also so many things that he's done... He got a phone call instead, and a superficial reading of what's going on in my life. Here, instead, is my failed letter to my father:
Happy Father's Day
Although I suppose I should call it "Dad's day" because you always hated being called father. Hated it with a fury I never understand, but I supposed it had to do with the fact that it was so formal and you wanted our relationship to be more relaxed. Too bad we can't always get what we want, huh?
It's all of the things you did to me as a child that I never recognized or appreciated that I thank you today. Like coming to every single one of my sports games, even though I sucked, and paying for those self-same sports, even though I hated the bulk of them and only played because you wanted me to be an athlete so badly, and what else was I going to do, right? Thank you for going on all of those Details that forced you to be away from the family. We knew it was to help the family that you and mom foolishly decided to have way too early.
Thank you for trying hard to teach me how to toss a ball, although sporadically. I never had the heart to tell you that I learned more about sports from Sid across the street than I ever did from you, but he was way more patient with me: assuming girls knew nothing about sports, he prepared himself to be patient with me. You assumed that my inferior girl-genes would be overcome by your superior Jerde-genes: you knew it; I was supposed to know it through osmosis. Ironically, I looked forward to and loathed those times you would notice you were supposed to be training me: it was the only time we ever talked or spent any time together, yet I always hated what a disappointed I was to you: I never got the rules fast enough, and my hand-eye-coordination wasn't great. You always said you were proud of me, and I always knew it was a lie. With the exception of the random times I did well in sports, I knew you were never really proud of me. The smartest person in your high school was never important as athlete-you. Those know-it-all egg-head college boys that you work with are still not as good as you: they can't teach what you know out of a book, right? I suppose I should be thanking you for this too: I can understand slightly why there are so many anti-intellectual trends in America because I watched your self-loathing jealousy up close and personal.
Thank you also for teaching me how to manipulate people. You were the master of it: you could be the life of a party. You had a charisma that everyone was drawn to, and the dry ironic wit that people loved and hated. You could make someone feel special with just a compliment and a smile, and you always knew what the insult that would hurt just a little bit more than anything else. You taught me what to look for, and what to do, although I don't think you knew it at the time. I got to watch up-close and personal how you alienated mom from her friends and family, and how you could break her or me or my siblings into tears anytime the thought crossed your mind. I know how you wanted me to be a boy, and how you thought I was a coward: you said so often enough when you were drunk, although it was confidently forgotten when sober.
Thank you for teaching me to shoot. That is genuine: one of the skills I'm glad I have is being able to aim a gun straight. Thank you for teaching me all of the safety rules as well, so I know never to get hurt.
Thank you for teaching me to be careful what I drink. I know that your cruelty isn't caused by being drunk; you're cruel often enough when you're sober. But I know that being drunk can make you worse, and I don't rightly feel like wrapping a vehicle around a tree like you did.
Thank you for teaching me leadership: someone had to shield my sisters from you two arguing. Although, to this day, I shirk responsibility: I could protect them I'd probably just mess anything else up that I had direct control over.
Thank you for practically throwing me into feminism. It was either become a feminist or hate myself for not living up to your wants and expectations of me. You know, the last time you were here in Grand Forks you asked me why I was "so big on the feminist-thing" like it was a fad or something. I felt like yelling at you "Because you BEAT my mother, you selfish FUCK". But I didn't, because even today I am afraid of you. I'm afraid of not doing everything perfect and controlling every small thing around you because you have the capacity to make everyone MISERABLE and walk on egg-shells if you are in a bad mood.
I remember the first time I saw you beat my mom. I'm not talking about the pushing or the slaps; I'm talking serious physical abuse. I was 12. You came home drunk, and I woke up when the screen door slammed (you never seemed to remember how light of a sleeper I was. I've woken up when you or mom came in late for work pretty much every day of my life. I pretended to be asleep on the couch when I was younger to get to watch TV before you carried me up to my room and tucked me into bed). I sat at the top of the stairs, so I could watch and keep my sisters in their rooms. You and mom were arguing over who she dated in high school, and you called her ungrateful lowlife and threw her into the glass-and-pine coffee table. That's when I ran to my sisters' room, so I would be there if you decided to come into the room. You ran out that night, took the truck and drove off because mom hadn't hidden the keys. We went to the old house that night, afraid. It wasn't the only night we hid from you. Thank you for teaching me to fear relationships, at least I'm cautious about the ones I go into.
Thank you from keeping me from peer pressure. I was already so much of a freak because of my weird clothes and keeping people away from my house, there was no point in trying to entice the fickle court of high school popularity. I was able to be my own person because I didn't have a chance in hell of impressing everyone else anyway.
Thank you for making me hate the fact that I was a female. I tried my damnest to be a boy, and now I can compete in a man's environment, but I thank feminism for accepting that I'm female and that's okay. Please quit acting so fucking shocked that I'm not giving you grandkids AND that I'm not a virginal girl. You wanted a boy, you got me: someone that didn't fit into nice little gender roles. Deal.
Thank you for teaching me that hard work was its own reward. That whatever job you do, you should do it the best you could, regardless of the money. Work hard because it's more satisfying, not because you were getting anything from it.
Thank you for realizing you were a fucktard. I realize you’re trying to get back into my life as best you can, and make amends to mom, as best you can. However, it's too little, too fucking late. Divorce mom, because that's a lost cause. She doesn't deserve you. I wish you realize that connecting with your daughters is more than money. Don't get me wrong, the money helps, but we need more emotional work (or at the very least, we need the ability to not be doing emotional work for you).
So Happy Dad's Day. Here is my tribute to you, with its respect, anger, hate, self-loathing, and love that I feel towards you. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Apr. 6th, 2006|10:49 am] |
Every year, as soon as the bulk of the snow melts, and a suitable Saturday can be found, hundreds of University of North Dakota students decend on University Park to participate in the near-ritual traditon of Springfest. In recent years, this event was not sponsored by anyone: a few bands just "happen" to show up, port-a-potties just "happen" to appear, and a few hundred people just "happen" to decide on the same day that they wish to go to University Park and drink. This year, Student Senate decided to sponsor it, and Suite 49 decided to provide the alchol.
One of the reasons that the Student Government was getting involved in something that has been a largerly informal event was Grand Forks passing a City Ordinance requiring a permit to have alchol on public properties. Before, people just brought their own booze, and it was a "share and share alike" event. Now, there is going to be a segregated beer garden for those above 21, and anyone who wishes to drink may only drink the beer that Suite 49 is providing, because of another city law that says that beer gardens must be segregated by age.
Call me cynical, but I think that if they could have gotten away with it, the city of Grand Forks would have banned the event entirely. I also think it was the fact that we had a business this year sponsoring us had more to do with us getting a permit than the City Council's great concern for the University students. Grand Forks has shown time and time again that they like our money much more than they like the individual students.
My freshman year of college I became aware of the ambivilamce and downright hostility the community towards us. I thought that they liked us: coming into the city, I saw businesses everywhere proclaiming "Welcome back students" and signs posted everywhere saying "Student discount". The whole community seemed to be welcoming us with open arms.
Then I heard about the voting policies of fair Grand Forks, the city that seemed to be welcoming our students so openly. Most cities have elections in November, but not Grand Forks: they're elections are held in June, when a quarter of the students are gone, and the information on how to register seems to be want to be kept a secret, because they never publicize it. My suspicion the Grand Forks citizens are distrustedful of students knowing how to take part in the democratic process was further exerbated by the 2003 city-wide vote on whether or not the city should build a water park, and UND students were actively discouraged from voting. A Grand Forks Hearld letter to the editor was titled "Water Park Supporters Struggle For Campus Votes, Students Don't Know Much About It And May Not Care To Vote" (Oct 23) and told university students not to vote because we didn't have "a stake in the community".
Then there was the problems at the Ralph Englestead arena. Some citizens complained that the UND students were too rowdy, too vulgar, and they couldn't take their little kids to the hockey game. President Kupechella caved in to their demands, and the students were given a lecture reminiscant of a Kindergarten class to sit down and shut up. Now we weren't allowed to stand except for when they said we could, now we couldn't cheer except the cheers that weren't "vulgar", and now there was a security guard standing at every game by the student section that was going to sumarily boot our nalgas if we didn't tow the line. Instead of getting to enjoy the university hockey team, our team, university students, adults, were being treated as if we were infants.
Then there's the rezoning of the area around the Univeristy to single-family houses, so university students could not live near our own university. Many students came out against the rezoning, and it still did not matter, the rezoning passed by a large margin, limiting where students could live while we are furthering our education.
Then there's the businesses not giving anyone a decent wage because they can exploit the steady stream of student laborers, the credit card companies that decend on the campus every fall and spring trying to tempt us out of our money, the apartment owners that overcharge for apartments because none of us have built any credit, the police department making money hand over fist from ticketing the university students, the list goes on and on.
University students number 13,200 people according to wilikepedia.com, which is over a quarter of the Grand Forks population. We bring money, jobs and labor to the community. We deserve to be treated with respect, not contempt.
Those signs I see every year might as well say "Welcome back Student's money" because that's what they really mean. |
|
|
| Firefly |
[Mar. 29th, 2006|04:47 pm] |
I love Firefly, I love Firefly Joss Whedon's awesome, lalala. I'm so purchasing both of them if I ever get any type of finances.
Anyway, I "borrowed" Brandon's Firefly series this weekend, and got to thinking about it today. In one of the episodes, Mal and Wash get kidnapped by this Russian mob-boss that's out for Mal's blood. In it, everyone picks up weapons and attempts to rescue them, including this girl named Kaylee.
In a later episode, Kaylee makes the comment that she didn't do much good. Mal kisses her on the forehead and goes "I ain't have no problem with the idea of you not killing anyone".
This comment, to me, is strange. Mal kills people all the time. Mal respects Zoe, a woman who kills all the time. Why is it so important to him that Kaylee doesn't not kill?
The only explanation is that I can tell is that he likes Kaylee as she it: without guile, open, more or less innocent. The very first episode he goes "There ain't a power in the 'verse keep Kaylee from being cheerful. Makes you kinda one lock her in storage with duck tape over her mouth". He says it like it bothers him, but he's smiling.
Which kinda gives a layer to Mal. He wants to protect Kaylee, protect the innocence that she represents. It's a little odd on his exterior character.
Weird thought.
Anyway, Brandon said something that made me want to rip off his clothes and take him right in the middle of the living room, (even though he has mono). See, Brandon used to be a martial arts instructor. HE told me that what he frequently liked to do was go "Good job, you punch like a girl". When the boy would get offended or confused, he would ask one of the females to come over and "demonstrate" for him. The girl would get a happy-evil look in her eyes, run over and punch them. The guy would then pick themselves off of the ground and recognize the compliment.
*Sigh* so sexy: inverting gender roles and encouraging young women. |
|
|
| Pixie Power! |
[Mar. 24th, 2006|03:01 pm] |
Brandon's little brother is here in Grand Forks. He came in on Wednsday. So everyone knows what this means! (No, not that he gets to spend some quality time with his little brother, who cares about that?) It means PIXIE POWER!
See, when Bryce comes over, or we all go to Brandon's folk's house, we get to play D&D with Brandon DMing. I like when Brandon DM's, he makes the game really interesting, and gives us plenty of time to interact with each other.
But the CHARACTER. I play a Pixie Sorcerouses named Della Lightfoot. Della is freaking AWESOME. My speciality is Evocation (boom spells for those not in the know). I likey boom-spells.
Yesterday, we played at Jon's house: me as Della, Bryce as Pint (from the land of half), a Halfling shadow dancer, Jon as Lord Walter something-or-other, a human necromancer (Della spent the entire night calling him "Tall, dark and creepy" or some varient thereof), Nikki as Leaha, a human ranger with a huge wolf as a mount, and Panzer (like the tank), an NPC ghosted by Brandon, a very intelligent construct has sworn undying alligance to Walter. We defeated an undead lyricist, 4 gargoyals, got past a Death Knight and his drake, a stone goleum, and 4 vampires, destroyed a dark artifact, put a girl's soul to rest, and met some gods. Very cool.
Because I'm awesome, the party SO would have died without me. I'm the one who spotted the trap, I'm the one who earthbound (and destroyed by putting it to sleep) a gargoyal, I earth-bound a master vampire and blasted a few of his fledgling. (of course, we probably wouldn't have lived if ANYONE hadn't been there, but :p I'm feeling happy). But the weird thing is, again it's my non-combat spells that are much more useful than my boom spells. Mind you, most of my big-boom spells are electricity or magic based (not much good against vampires and stone beings), but still...it seems like my characters always follow support, chaotic goods. I'm not the leader, I'd rather make smart ass comments than come up with real plans, I'd rather talk instead of fight, I'm more concerned about lives than I am about loot. Annoy me enough, I'm more likely to embarass you than harm you. My sorcerouss is one bad-ass little pixie: she didn't study or anything to know about magic, it is in the very essence of her soul. All she did was bend her mind around the knowledge that the world is what SHE made of it. Since the world is that of her creation, she feels compelled to enjoy it, and make sure others can enjoy it too.
My bard is a spellcaster as well, after a fashion. She sings, and in that music there is magic (a little more literally in D&D than in reality, but you know). She didn't learn this magic, she heard it in her soul, and spent time honing it until she could share it with the rest of the world.
These are not characters that exist to gain power, or money, or anything: they exist because they want others to play the game they're playing (life, in case your not following along). Not to win, to enjoy it. Life is a game of touch football that you play and don't keep score, and only follow loose rules so no one can cheat, and no one wins or loses.
My bard has a beautiful voice: when she sings even dragons stop to listen. She learned draconic because dragons facinated her, she found it dreadful fun to be able to amuse a dragon. That's the only reason to work towards anything her life, because she thinks it'll make things more fun.
My Pixie has an insatiable curiosity. The curiosity makes her strive to find the answer to anything, which is why she works hard if ever. Something strikes her curiosity, she will focus on it until she is sated: needling, spying, cajolling until she learns what she needs to know. The creature who cannot keep a focus on Leaha's talking for more than 10 second intervals can sit and hover for hours watching a single leaf fall during the autumn, trying to determine why the leaf falls.
Both characters are willing to die for complete strangers: why not? Della would tell you, I've enjoyed the game. Why deprive the chance of someone else to play who may have not enjoyed it yet? Both characters are willing to kill, but find that a horrible violation of the game. Killing is like having to play a referee; it's not fun, and if everyone would just quit trying to ruin everyone's good time it would be completely unnecessary. But they'd do it if necessary: push a pixie too far and you might feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up (quite literally, that's what happens when she convinces the lighting to fall from the sky). Make the bard angry, she will hold you in place while she finds someone to beat the ever living hell out of you. And if you do piss her off, she will find someone to beat you up (someone who will willingly, happily, and with enthusism complete that task) and if you live, she will make you wish to kill your own self.
This is interesting to me: what does this say about me if these are the characters that I play? How much is my imagination, and how much of it is a part of me, or what I want myself to be, coming out? Della and Leandra are seperate, distinct characters (Kalli too, but I haven't mentioned her, so screw it), but they share a lot of similarities. Are those similarities me? |
|
|
| Political |
[Mar. 19th, 2006|01:37 pm] |
I've decided to no longer subject my friends to my random musings on politics and feminism. Instead, I've decided to going the blogsphere, a third-world country if you will, on blogspot. For those of you who are indeed interested in reading this, the new blog (which as of right now, has no posts) is:
http://goddesscassandra.blogspot.com/ New posts will happen quickly, and I'll probably double post some of my favorite entries into it. |
|
|
| Women vs. Men |
[Mar. 8th, 2006|10:33 am] |
At Hugo's blog, there's a debate running around about "masculine" and "feminine" and all of which that entails. It's kinda interesting to see how people percieve themselves.
See, I don't really "get" the whole "masculine" thing. I'm not all that concerned about whether or not my actions are female enough or not, so I can't really understand this nervous, homosocial behavior in men. I've known enough guys, am close friends with enough guys to know that they are NOT that different from "women" even though they claim to be. There are some things about men that I won't understand (does it really hurt that much to get kicked in the balls?) because I was growing up percieved to be female, not male. So there really is a limit on how much I can empathize with them, which is unfortunate. Just the same that I can't fully empathize with others of a different race, or really: anyone.
Race and gender are meaningless to me...except, that they were MADE to be part of my identity. I am white and female. I didn't get this choice in my part of my identity, it was FORCED, reinforced, and encouraged on me. And to some degree, I've m ade my peace with that. I can accept that I am female, and what have you.
But it's not really a portion of my identity I embraced. There are many aspects of my identity I embraced: nerd, acedemic, feminist, I worry about continuing (to some degree...mostly it comes easily). But I would never worry about maintaining being a girl: it's not ME, it's something others percieve me to be.
I don't understand why it's really particularily necessary: a human is a human. Let them pick their own joys and identities. Quit putting this pressure to be something they're not.
Screw it, work's over, enough random musing. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Mar. 4th, 2006|07:13 pm] |
I don't like my friends.
I don't mean to say that I don't care about them, or that I don't enjoy hanging out with them. This doesn't even mean that I don't respect them.
But I still don't like them. Sometimes, I feel I ended up, in some cosmic joke, with people who I will never get along with. It's like, somehow my entire identity is wrapped up in what I'm NOT, if I'm not an antagonist, I don't know what I am.
Yesterday, I went to play D&D. I walked all the way from Abbot to the 72-unit, across campus (car's still not functioning, and for whatever stupid reason, the night bus doesn't run on Friday nights). It wasn't too bad, the weather was pretty warm; and I had my iPod to keep me company. But when I got to the apartment, I realized: I didn't want to be there. I wanted to turn around, and walk home, or walk to a bar and go dancing, or watch a movie, or do homework. Anything. And the second moment that I walked into the door, my resolution was just hardened. I don't know what it is: maybe the fact that we seemed to be having the same conversations, the same arguments, the same monsters. It wasn't...fun. The barely restrained contempt that Andrew has for me. My patience being tried with Jeremy again, as he begins to spout off in his annoying, of-course-I-know-this, bow-to-me-I'm-so-smart, which in and of itself would not be so bad if it wasn't for the fact that he's a little bit of an idiot. And he gets annoyed when we ignore him (which is the only way we can continue to put up with his exsistence w/o killing him or banging our heads against the table).
I don't like violence, I don't like video game as much, and I don't want to grow up oppressed in my life. Nor do I wish to opress others. But they all agree: humans will always be violent, there will always be war, there will always be murder. The only way to live is to make sure you're the one doing the killing/oppressing. And even if they're wrong, they self-perpetuate this idea. If they stopped, then maybe peace would actually have a chance. But I don't seem to be doing a very good job of convinicng them of this.
On Fine Dry Twit, they keep talking about how accepting of Jesus is the only way to get through life. But, Jesus is annoying. There's no other way to put it: their version of Christianity is about the most oppressive thing I could think of.
Live free or die. Yet, I'm supposed to opress or be opressed for the good of society. I think they might be right, and where does that leave me? |
|
|
| Good times have been had by all |
[Mar. 3rd, 2006|10:52 am] |
I cannot keep up this type of living. Homework, friends, class, and work...the thing that suffers is sleep. I'm going to have to give up something, and at this point in my life, I think it's going to have to be class. I need the rest of them.
Anyway, Grand Adventure story time!
I wouldn't have been late if I hadn't fallen asleep in philosophy. See, I have this professor, Poochigan, who's a really interesting guy: kinda rambling, kinda insane, frequently insults/gets insulted by his students and is balding (probably cause he likes to grab his hair out of frustration, I think it pulled it all out). Anyway, I didn't sleep a lot the night before, and his voice tends to get kinda of a hypnotic quality to it if he gets into "lecture mode" to long. Since lately we have been going over the questions that will be on the midterm, he's in FULL LECTURE MODE. Add to this, a very, very warm Merrifield classroom, and you'll catch me snoozing.
I got "Franklin's view of merit differed from Edwards due to..." and I drifted into that warm happy place that is semi-consciousness. Every so often, I would catch "Edward's view of reality..." and "will" and "god's view of the universe" but most of it wasn't even pinging my brain. I did wake up to a Prof. Poochigan, awfully close to me (I was in the front row) and awfully loud for him going "Edward's said that reality was based on thought. So when we are dreaming, like MS. JERDE HERE IS DEMONSTRATING we are actually creating worlds, like we are the creation of god's world" much to the amusement of the class.
Class was supposed to end at 3:15 (like that's EVER happaned) but ran over. At 3:20, I sheepishly appologized for falling asleep in class. He laughed, he said it gave an EXCELLENT example for class.
At 3:30, I finally make it down to the road, where Brandon was supposed to meet me. WE take off a little late.
At 4 o'clock, we are stuck in the median of Hwy 2. We were coming along a curve in Hwy 2 by Fisher, and the road was ICY. We saw two cars in the ditch, with a patrolman with his lights flashing. Because of optical illusion, Brandon thought that the cop was much closer, and went on the breaks a little fast. We did manage to not hit the cop car. While we were waiting in the car, Brandon tried to ascertain how much I have learned about planes through osmosis of pilots, or something. (not much, apparently. I could quote FARAIMS, but I can't remember "lift".)
We get to the airport, and I'm thinking I can't do this pilot-thing. We have to do like a half-hour of paperwork, look at charts that are SO FREAKING TINY that I can barely follow them (and I have damned good eyesight). The pre-flight was FREEZING, it was one of those so-freaking-cold that clouds don't stay in the sky very well days. The wind was NUMBING, and I was wearing stretch-pants, jeans, t-shirt-sweater, Columbia-jacked, wool hat, and thick gloves and boots. And I was STILL COLD.
I wanted. I was enough to go "Why the hell are we wasting all of our time on this".
Then we got into the plane. Brandon shows me how this is working. I think out of the whole lesson I got "yoke" and "flaps" and "plane go up, plane go down". Maybe what the altimeter was.
We took off, and I experienced that little "jump" that I always feel when I go flying and we take off. Like I'm breaking a barrier that keeps me to the ground. I felt a little less cold in that second.
Brandon started us off, then gave me control of the plane.
I wish I could write better. I wish I could be inspired to write the best I've ever written in my life right now. I wish the words would flow from the very depth of my being and the words would pop out at someone, so that years and years from now, people would find them and be inspired. But I can't.
It was dizzying. It was exhilirating. It was freeing, and exciting. I was nervous as hell, there was the thought running through my head that "This is a many-thousand dollar plane. If I break it, I will never get over it". The other thought running through my brain was "Okay, there's the altimeter, keep it at this height. Throttle, slow down a little bit. Compass, why the hell can't I keep this thing going in a one damn direction." My body, however, was going "THis is the most natural thing in the world to do. Look outside, you can SEE the entire world! You can go ANYWHERE. Listen to that: you can only hear the buzz of the engine, purring in the cold air. He's simply an extention of you, if you want to go left, go turn left. If you want to go down and he's being stubborn, pet him a bit and he'll go forward. You feel like your climbing? That's because YOU ARE climbing. It's just like if you sit down you feel like you're going down. Do you feel like you're slowing down? YOU ARE"
I wasn't very good. Of heading, altitude, and speed, I could keep two, but not three. Three was alluding me, and I think it's because I can't watch everything at once. I know, I know that you ARE NOT suposed to trust your instincts, your instincts lie. Trust the instraments. But it just seemed easier to look out the window...if the houses got smaller, you were going up. If they got bigger, you were going down.
Brandon took me through a small aeronamics demonstration. It was so much fun: like a rollercoaster that wasn't restricted to tracks. I could feel my insides, lose inside me, coming up into my throat, down into my pelvis. My lungs sucking air...my face flushing...my eyes narrowing. The adreniline rush.
I'm changing my major. I'm taking out a million loans, essaying my soul to the heightest bidder, and letting my parents cut me off. I will stay in the hell-hole that is Grand Forks for 4-5 more years.
Because I want it again. Brandon's taking me up as soon as we get an open clear day. He's got a couple books for me to read. I dreamed of flying last night, and I want to go back. |
|
|
| Random Feminist Musing, You have been warned |
[Feb. 24th, 2006|10:42 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  feminist | ] |
So, The Carnival of the Feminist's up again, and its got me thinking about sex, abortion, and power differencials: all the things good in life.
But, it's interesting, it's actually a book my friend Brandon gave me that had me thinking I should go on a Feminist's rant.
See, Brandon is way into the fantasy/ sci-fi genre, which is awesome, because that's also my favorite too. But the book he lends me (or that I lend myself after saying something to the effect of "hey, I'm taking this book for awhile, kay?) are hit and miss. Some of them I love (like the Star Trek series I'm currently hooked on) some of them are stupid-bad (uh, Grunts). Some of them really, really have the potential for me to like, if I could JUST GET OVER MY POLITICS, like the one I'm currently reading.
I'm reading "Wizard's First Rule" right now. It's not bad, the dialogue is weak as hell, and the action is slower paced than what I think is strictly necessary, but it's not bad. Part of the slow pacing, I imagine, is the problem of fantasy: when you are describing a fictious world, there are MILLIONS of tiny details that differ than this world, and without it, it becomes a less complete world (not to mention, people tend to fill in the gaps with "real-world" physics, politics, et cetera which limits the world). All and all, I can forgive that, still has the nice good-guy, bad-guy save the world set-up which, while done, is still fun for a nice read-through. They ding around some fun themes, like the reluctant hero (always a favorite), sacrifice, and who thinks they're right. Plus, they bandy about the different kind of powers, which is always neat.
But, I hate the characters. And if I can't like the characters, I can't like the book: that's all there is to it. I'm only about 3/4 of the way through it, but here are the characters, to wit:
Richard Cypher: Reluctant hero
Micheal: Richard's older brother, First Counsellor of Westlands
Zedd: Old Wizard
Kahlan Amnell: Mother Confessor (also, shockingly enough (is my sarcasm heavy enough) the love intrest to said reluctant hero)
Aggie: Bone Lady, sorceress
Chase: Border Warden
Bird Man: Mud People's holy person
Queen Melinda: wow, this one should be fairly obvious
Princess Violet: (Wow, I almost wrote Princess Violent, Freudian slip much)
Rachel: Princess's playmate
Giller: another wizard
Sholto: witch woman
Deminar: right-hand man to antagonist
Darken Rahl: Power-hungry antagonist
There are also some other characters, but as far as I can tell, they're more to illistrate the main characters personality, as opposed to being fleshed out character of themselves. Richard's father George, Kahlan's sister Denna and her mother, Zedd's wife and daughter, and Rahl's father are also frequently mentioned, but they're dead and seem to only be mentioned for motivational purposed.
Of the 14 main or important supportive characters, 6 of them are female. I should be happy, right? That's almost half, right? What more could a committed feminist want?
Well, first, female characters that QUIT NEEDING TO BE RESCUED! Dammit, Kahlan's a freaking CONFESSOR: kings and queens bow to her! She can make people fullfill her every wish by her TOUCHING them. She's educated, she's strong. And what happens? Richard "rescues" her like every freaking chapter. I've never been so freaking annoyed with a character in my life. And what's worse, is even when she doesn't need to be rescued, or she isn't really rescued, she still massages Richard's precious widdle ego all the more. For instance, when she comes up against the first quad, she turns one of the quad, which proceeds to fight the others. Richard holds one off for like, five minutes TOPS. Who's more responsible? Kahlan, duh, but she makes a big show of how Richard saved her life and bullshit and all that. Gag me. Go "Yeah, you were mostly useless, but thanks for the help anyway. Appreciate the attempt".
Really, there's a theme that keeps running through all of these characters: women characters shouldn't have power. They make a big show of how "courageous" Kahlan is, and how she rarely ever cries, but what does she DO? She cries a lot, and is little freaking wuss. And if she's ever disagrees with Richard, it's her that's "wrong": going to see the witch Sholta, talking to the Mud people, not telling Richard, all of that. If she disagrees with Richard, she's "wrong".
All of the women with power have this freaking message: women shouldn't have power, or at least power over men. Kahlan has power over EVERYONE and what is she? A women who whines about how she just wants to be a normal women, and how HARD it is for her, and how MISERABLE it it is. And how women just have the "natural compassion" to be able to suffer with the confessors power, the men ALWAYS abuse it, (because men are just forces of nature). Ick. Not to mention, she can never have a partner: she can't control her power during sex. Moral of the story: powerful women will emasculate you.
Seriously, you have the queen, who is a useless little figurehead, her daughter, who is cruel and wrong. Neither appear to have any redeeming qualities. Then there's the Sorcerousess Aggie, who's "less powerful than Zedd" so okay, and the witch Sholta, who's more powerful than Zedd and is portrayed as a vicious bitch. The consequence of Aggie even having a little bit of power is she lives a solitary life: a theme that runs through the women-with-power thing a lot.
Rachel has no autonomy. She doesn't think to run away from Princess violent until the wizard Giller tells her, tells her how to do it, and gives her the courage to do in the form of a doll.
Aside from the feminist critique, (and to be a little mean, it's HARD for guys to write girls. Just is, you right the best characters that have some aspect of you, and if a major portion of your identity is male, females'll be hard), I don't like the politics.
So, it does get into the whole "everyone's right from their point of view" subplot, which would be great, if it wasn't so freaking shallow. Darken Rahl has NO redeeming qualities, no valuable motives. It's so blatantly obvious that he's the "bad guy" (hell, the name ALONE means "bad guy") that the "right from another perspective" is so stupid. It's like "the other side thinks he's right, but it's so obvious that he's not that he's not only evil, it's stupid to boot". I feel like this book has some very Cold War era mentalities: Darken Rahl is Stalin-esque, the propganda is very similar, and then there's the whole part where the farmer goes on a rant about how his family's starving because they've "redistubuted" his entire crop, so he and his family starves. The Queen accuses him of being "selfish". Sounds to me like a simplistic, yet subtle, critique of the capitalism vs. communisim.
Darken Rahl seems a mixture of Stalin and Hitler. Aside from the brainwashing, there's also the whole refusing-to-eat-meet thing, which of course is Hitleresque: Hitler was a vegitarian. Then there's the genocide of anyone magical, like the Jewish genocide.
Once we start into the morals of the "good guys" it gets even more asine. Aside from the "Richard is the only one who can kill Rahl and then save the universe" idiocy (and egotism), there's the Wizard's First Rule itself: people are stupid. The whole thing smacks of benign despotism: be ruled by us because we are better, more important people. We don't need to justify our actions, we do them because they are ultimately right for everyone. BOTH sides do this, and Richard refuses to see his blatant hypocrisy: he's right doing it, Darken's wrong. Don't risk your life to save an innocent, it's more important to save yourself, let him die for the greater good. How very utilitarian. *rolls eyes* Of course, Kahlan's so bad because this just EATS HER UP INSIDE wheras Richard accepts it with stoism of duty.
Oy Vay. And the saddest part of this? I really understand why my friend likes this book, or at the very least, can't understand why I dislike the characters. This is one of my feminist overreactions.
Honestly, sometimes I wonder if my friends are really against the "might makes right" philosophy. They say they are, but then again, they never ACT like they are.
One time, I was screwing around with my friend. He easily pinned me, and I was giggling and going "Okay, let me go before I hurt you". Normally, they let me go: honestly, I"m not sure if they think I can hurt them, or if they just know this is the line. But this time, he didn't let me go. I stopped giggling and said it again. He didn't let me go, he just went "Prove it". Still light, still not going to hurt me, but with an edge of seriousness. I said "I don't want to hurt you". He's said "It's because you can't, isn't it?" I responded, "Yep, that's it, now let me go". "No" he goes. I lean back, sqeeze with my legs to keep him pinned on top of me and reduce his arm movement constrict, open up with my free hand and hit the pressure point behind his ear. he lets go enocugh that I twist and land on top of him. "I'm sorry I hurt you" I say. "Honestly, I'm not. I'm relieved" he went.
Disturbing. No, it really is. It's sweet in the fact that I THINK that he's relieved that I can defend myself, disturbing that he thinks I need to. Or that it's my responsibility to. Or that somehow it's worse if I don't. |
|
|
| The Cities |
[Feb. 22nd, 2006|06:15 pm] |
This weekend I went to the cities. Brandon, Jon, Nikki, Jordan and I all drove down to Brandon's parent's house in Monticello. We were fed (a lot) by his very nice parents. We also played D&D with Brice (sp?) his little, adorable brother. I played a Pixie sorcerousess. I kicked SO much ass (grins evil-like). 3 NPC's with one spell, baby. Although, I find it interesting that I'm playing a charasma-based, chaotic good character AGAIN. I definately need to branch out: it's just that I find those characters MUCH MORE interesting.
First and foremost, I did not sleep much. a) I was sleeping in the living room, which is facing giant windows. These give awesome views of the sunrise. Bad thing? They give bright views of the sunrise. B) Jon is used to getting up early. Jon is built like a tank. The hardwood floors make very nice echoing, rattling, banging noises as Jon walks across them. C) Brandon's mom is an EMT. She was on call this weekend.
On Saturday, we went and saw the Minneapolis Orchestra. Very entertaining, and more than just the music. We took the Balfanz's Expedition (at least, I think it was) instead of Brandon's car. This vehicle had a yakima on top. We went to go park in a parking garage. Doing, the Yakima hit the "You must be shorter than 7.0 feet) mark.
"It'll compress" says Brandon.
"No it won't," says I. He was driving he decided to go for it.
We go to leave after the concert. SCRAAAAAAPPPEEE. Make the first one. Make the second. Don't so good on the third. We'll back up! Well, Brandon was right, it does compress....just not backing up. Crash, there goes the plastic. Anger in Brandon's eyes, do not say ANYTHING.
Look at the Yakima. Hey, we can unscrew it.
Unscrew Yakima. Leave parking garage. Rescrew yakima.
Get about, hmm, a block away before the "I told you so" and enormous amounts of shit. hehe
Sunday, we see "Murder at the Howard Johnson". It was okay.
Monday, come home.
A good time was had, but it would have been better with sex, booze, and sleeping. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Feb. 17th, 2006|12:02 pm] |
It is really cold out today. So cold, that even if you're inside, you have to be standing underneath the heater, or you can LITERALLY (not practically, not hyperbolically, literally) see your breathe.
Fucking ND.
I get to go to the cit-ies! I get to go to the cit-ies! |
|
|
| Puke |
[Feb. 15th, 2006|07:59 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  frustrated | ] |
http://www.theothersideofkim.com/index.php/essays/41/
You know, I almost hate posting that link. I hate that he'll get even a person more traffic.
But I have to put it up. I have to show that the women's rights movement hasn't gone nearly far enough. That there are still people out there, there are still men out there, that view women as objects. That are violent, uncivilized, brutes of humans. That everything female is an object of contempt for him. It makes me want to not be empathitic, but rather HIT HIM if for nothing else than to prove that a girl could whip his little entitled ass.
I HATE this world. I don't want to live in it. Does no one notice that this is the most RETARDED system set up? We encourage the worst in people, idealize traits that are harmful and self-serving, assign value to the worthless and call worthless the valuable.
I'm raised to strive...for what? A bigger house? A nicer car? Better clothes? What the bloody fuck do I need any of this for?!? I don't want material things. What use is something that can be taken away from me? Maybe it's because I've moved around so much, maybe it's because I could never keep track of something, but I've never developed the attachment to physical things. I'd RATHER share with people...the great thing about books is not that I hoard them, but that I get to share them with people: we get passed back and forth. What good is a book that I keep to myself?
Also, what's so bloody great about violence? *rolls eyes* yes, let's hurt each other, that'll make everyone "tough" and prove who's "strong". Idiotic fascination with physical performance. There's nothing wrong with enjoying personal strength and one's own body, but bloody fucking hell, humans have been out of the freaking evolutionary gene pool for CENTURIES. We have no fur, we can have poor eyesight...mating has long been away from the physically strong.
fuck, people. My friend Jon, told me about this story. There was an island in the Aegean sea. It was small, but perfectly democratic. It didn't have a very strong military presence, so Athens ran it over: killed all the men, sold all the women into slavery.
Moral to the story, according to Jon: always have a strong military.
Moral to the story, according to me: DON"T BE FUCKING IMPERILISTIC PRICKS. The island that got overtaken? They did the right thing. The Athenians? Fucking pricks. I don't care if they "won", they in fact, lost.
That's the fuck of it: we've got this idea rolled around in our heads that if we get what we want, then what we did is right. The rich are rich because they were more moral. Might makes right, because if it wasn't right, it wouldn't win. This is STUPID: the world isn't just, isn't fair, and it's up to human beings to try and make it as fair as they can. There's a reason there's a "just world" fallacy, resulting in cold cognative dissonance.
Ah screw it. I can't wait until May.
In other news, I have a quiz tommorow in a class I haven't went to, covering chapters 4-6 in a textbook I don't have. |
|
|
| gender swap |
[Feb. 12th, 2006|10:27 am] |
I eat lunch with a bunch of guys. I wouldn't really call most of them "friends", but people I know pretty well and hang out with. You know, the guys that are statistically most likely to rape me.
They're pretty conservative, and when I say "pretty" I mean "Let's worship at the alter of Bush and his tax cuts" and "homos are icky". We got into an interesting discussion the other day about guys.
"Guys only have three needs" they say. Ëating, sleeping, and having sex. All motivations in their life stem from that".
They chortle with their own cleverness at quoting a multitude of male comedians before them, and nod their heads in tandem.
"That's ridiculous," I said. ÏF that were true, then why on earth do men have ambition? Why do they create and learn and direct? Why are they sodamned eager to impress one another?"
"Well, how would you know? You're not a guy. We all agree, so it must be true. It's not our fault that women are so complicated and all want disparate things".
Eventually, we got on the subject of gender swapping. It was asked, would you like to be in the other person's body. None of them wanted to try out a women's body. I said I wish to try out a guys, so I could get a perspective of another person's point of view, so I could empathize with guys more. Guys aren't touching my body with a ten-foot-pole. When I asked why, one kinda muttered Ït wouldn't be as much fun when I got back".
It sorta reminds me of Sorority Boys (a really silly movie if there ever was one, but had a good point). So much of the privelege that men have goes willfully unnoticed. When something happends that FORCES them to notice, they dislike it a great deal. As one of the better quotes in the movie goes "When I order a double-bacon cheeseburger, do I want to watch them slit a pig's throat and throw it upon a dead cow? No, I just want my cheeseburger. We're not supposed to know about periods, about shaving, about dieting and thigh-masters. I just want to eat my cheeseburger in peace!"
When men are FORCED to see women as human beings, then they are forced to treat them nicely. They are forced to respect them as human beings, because suddenly they become real to them.
That disturbs me so much.
In other news, my friend Jon is having difficulty understanding why his sorta girlfriend dislikes it when he opens the door for her. Silly, silly boy. I think I need to explain this to him, in small words, so he understands it.
Poor guy, I really do feel for him. This is his first girlfriend, and I get the distinct impression that he wasn't exactly raised how to treat women as equals, not as a pedestal sitter or something below them (not really quite sure where I fit in on all this, fairly certain it's "below" him, just as a "promiscuous" girl and as a liberal, and as a journalist. I'm the ënemy"in his simplistic worldview). But, this is coming back to bite him in the ass, as he actually likes this girl, and is getting a little to "big strong protector" on her.
IT's weird, you know? For a guy to fit his patriarchy-ordained role of "protector" he needs two things: a) someone to protect and b) someone from them to protect against. The a is normally women, although lands and ideals are acceptable stand-ins. What do these things have in common? To the protector, it is passive. It is going to BE protected, or he'll fail and it'll be someone else's. And he will go to outrageous lengths to make sure what he protects remains his. He'll burn his land. He'll die spouting the ideals of his cause. He'll kill the unfaithful wife.
Which brings us to b) what he needs to protect against. This is normally, shockingly enough, another male (to be fair, it also can be "nature" and intangibles like öppression" as well). But not just any other male, this has to be the öther" in other male. He has to be dark skinned, speak a different language. He has to be the "stranger in the bush". He has to be a guy that is Unlike him. This guy he protects his protected from cannot be his buddy next door. It cannot be the guy he's drank with before, or watches the game with. He can't protect against himself, or else he comes to a glaring question: if all the guys were gone, would women need protectors? Or could they protect themselves?
Chivalry breaks down because it is never applied to the people who need it most. It is never used against one's buddies, and there is no one enforcing it. It also is never weilded in defense of non-pretty, non-upper-clase, non-white women, the defective products of femininity.
I have this wish, and it is not a sadistic, nor cruel, nor malicious wish. I simply wish that all men were females for a week. Not at the same time, mind you, but just for a week in their developing life (pick some time between 13-22) where they have to be female.
Too bad it's just a wish. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Feb. 5th, 2006|01:37 pm] |
When I was a child, I used to get teased a lot. I'd say I didn't develop my (limited) social skills until about my freshman year of high school. There were a lot of insults thrown my way, but the one that puzzled me the most was "girl".
"You're such a girl" he would taunt. "No I'm not!" I'd rebutt indignantly. But, I'd know that, yes, I was a girl. I had girl-parts, long hair, was clean...I was a girl. But being called "girl" WAS an insult, it wasn't a compliment. I knew that as a child, even if I couldn't explain to you why it was an insult.
Later, the insult de jour would be "nerd". Eventually, I went "fuck it, hell yes I'm a nerd". I like literature (especially sci fi and fantasy), video games, role-playing games, philosophical discussions and pop culture aspects. I am a nerd. That term I was able to co-opt for myself and my friends: occasionally we joke that somewhat just earned "prestige levels in nerd", a phrase in and of itself reveling the speaker to be of the less mainstream persuasion.
Now, the insult that gets lobbed at me the most frequently (although, less in the school-yard taunting setting and in the more subtle version) would be "slut". (Although "bitch" would probably be a close second).
( slut ) |
|
|
| Self-Autonomy |
[Jan. 31st, 2006|07:08 pm] |
I have a roommate that comes from a very different ideological viewpoint from me. He is a "recovering Catholic", ie he was raised Catholic and now doesn't believe in it and now he's kinda floundering around on what his philosophy is (can't blame him, did that for awhile when I rejected Christianity).
Normally, we disagree. I think I'm making him come around on some things, and his beliefs have given me pause on others (sex springs immediately to mind: it was interesting to see his cognitive dissonance when he realized I, someone he respects, was somewhat sexually active.)
But it always disturbs me when he says something that just jars my beliefs to the core, like today.
"There's no such thing as a mercy killing". This is what my roommate said. I was floored. I have seen so much suffering that I think it is cruel to say that a person CANNOT die. I think this gets to the very heart of self-autonomy: I can choose to live or die. My life, my being, is my own to do with as I please, and this is something that is extended to everyone. Intrinsically, one has the right to choose to continue living, or to cut living short. We don't have this right indefinately, we all will die, but until then, I can take steps to stop living. This is my choice.
In terminally ill, or people living on machines, they cannot always make this choice on there own. They need people to KNOW their wants, and act on this.
The idea to be held prisoner in my own body is probably the worst nightmare I could think of. To be held with tubes to a bed, to not be able to communicate or connect with the rest of the world, to be unable to be independent or free, that to me is the worst punishment anyone could inflict on another, cruel beyond any thinking.
My belief in self-autonomy is involiable to the point of human control. My body is mine, and mine alone: no one else may use it, touch it, control it without my consent. This is not to be interfered with until the point of me violating someone else autonomy. This is why abortion should be legal, rape
illegal, and the right to die should be undebatable. This is MINE, mine alone: not yours, not ours, MINE. If I choose to share it, that is my will. By the same token, I have no right to interfere on anyone else's autonomy.
Talking to my friends IS jarring a lot of the time. I have mostly male friends: I have a difficult time relating to most women for whatever reason. And, most of those are conservatives. These are people I care about deeply, respect a great deal, and I know that they care about me. But, sometimes....
Like we got to talking about innate human nature. I'm personally of the belief that given the opportunity and means, people will choose to be kind, giving, and selfless. Evil and selfishness comes from fear, get rid of that fear and people will freely do good.
Honestly, even as a child, being good came easily. There is a video of me as a 4-year-old child giving away my Easter eggs to someone who couldn't find any (in the video, my mom grabs a golden one which had a prize in it before I could give it away). My dad got mad at me because I gave away my first allowance to the church's "Feed Africa" program. I like to help people, I don't see any reason not to. I delight in creation.
But, my friends say that they were not like that. They say that the only reason that they act nice to people is because that is how they were raised: they felt like being mean to others. They still act mean to others. I don't understand: why is it that only fear of punishment or desire for reward their main motivating force? Why can't they understand that other people, who they do not know, are still people and deserve basic human requirements? They act kind to me, and whenever I point this out, they say it's because I"m "real" to them....why is it no one else exsists?
It bothers me: it bothers me their inclination to be indifferent, it bothers me their delight in destruction, and it bothers me their resistance to examain their own privelege.
My friend Jon is a conservative, male, white, career military man. I am a liberal, feminist, white journalists. We are, for all intents in purposes, "natural" enemies. I love him (platonically) and I'm worried about him. And I pity him. He seems to like and respect me (for the most part) but he once referred to journalists (and by extension, me) as "the enemy that they can't shoot". It hurt me, a great deal. And it hurts me how casually he brushes off women's rights as "overreacting" and "unnecessary".
He's not the only one: my dad's the same way. He asked me, when he came over, why I was such a ardenant feminist. I gave him a few examples from my past, and he said that "You'll do just fine" and he started talking about lazy women in the Border Patrol who they lowered the standard for affirmative action. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to tell him that he wasn't promoted because he's incompetent and impossible to work with. I wanted to tell him that wasn't just about me florishing. And more than anything, I wanted to yell at him "Why am I a feminist? Because you BEAT MY MOTHER, you abusive alcholic misgynistic PRICK!"
How can people who claim to love and care about be so...evil? How can they want me to be happy, but don't actually want to do the things that make me happy? How can they be so blinded by themselves? It doesn't make sense to me. |
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
| |
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
antigone_reborn's journal